 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
417
TO FEAR IS TO GOVERN.
Linked to the resplendent wraith of error
Blind and beauteous, that wise men warps,
Is the shapeless shadow we call terror,
Cold as is the shadow of a corpse;
Dreadful as an arméd host, that, risen
Out of earth and with no travail pains,
Shrinks the haunted heart into a prison,
Dark with closèd doors and clanking chains;
But in that serene and sunny knowledge,
Surely marching on with lightning spear,
Never learned in crabbèd school or college,
Breathes a blessèd Fear.
Blind and beauteous, that wise men warps,
Is the shapeless shadow we call terror,
Cold as is the shadow of a corpse;
Dreadful as an arméd host, that, risen
Out of earth and with no travail pains,
Shrinks the haunted heart into a prison,
Dark with closèd doors and clanking chains;
But in that serene and sunny knowledge,
Surely marching on with lightning spear,
Never learned in crabbèd school or college,
Breathes a blessèd Fear.
Ah, thou canst not name the secret number
Written on the hem of nature's robe,
All that lies beyond the lands of slumber,
All that hid is in a dew-drop's globe;
Canst not guess the rapture of the vision,
More than death and deeper far than life,
Palpitating in the stern decision,
Wrought with blood through sacrificial knife;
Canst not tell or spell the splendid letters,
In the soul by penitential tear
Burnt, unless with free diviner fetters,
Perfected in Fear.
Written on the hem of nature's robe,
All that lies beyond the lands of slumber,
All that hid is in a dew-drop's globe;
Canst not guess the rapture of the vision,
More than death and deeper far than life,
Palpitating in the stern decision,
Wrought with blood through sacrificial knife;
Canst not tell or spell the splendid letters,
In the soul by penitential tear
Burnt, unless with free diviner fetters,
Perfected in Fear.
Never shalt thou see the side, my brother,
Turned away from thee by virgin moons,
Mysteries of spaces, and the other
Greater world with its unearthly boons;
Never catch the passion of the story,
Chanted by the stars, in silent nights,
When the heavens have lent their garb of glory
To the sea in bursts of solemn sights;
Never note the meaning of the message
Sighed at evening to the waiting ear,
Till instructed in more faithful presage,
Miracles of Fear.
Turned away from thee by virgin moons,
Mysteries of spaces, and the other
Greater world with its unearthly boons;
Never catch the passion of the story,
Chanted by the stars, in silent nights,
When the heavens have lent their garb of glory
To the sea in bursts of solemn sights;
Never note the meaning of the message
Sighed at evening to the waiting ear,
Till instructed in more faithful presage,
Miracles of Fear.
Nay, thou canst not read that inner teaching,
Past the lying masquerade of form,
Dazzling vain philosophies, and reaching
Lower than the shaking of the storm;
Canst not stamp upon thy fleshly nature,
Dragging thee for ever deeper down,
One small line of that grand legislature,
Meant to gift thee with a monarch's crown;
Canst not start aright, nor shape a minute
Path across the desert lone and drear,
If thou hast not compassed, to begin it,
Masteries of Fear.
Past the lying masquerade of form,
Dazzling vain philosophies, and reaching
Lower than the shaking of the storm;
Canst not stamp upon thy fleshly nature,
Dragging thee for ever deeper down,
One small line of that grand legislature,
Meant to gift thee with a monarch's crown;
Canst not start aright, nor shape a minute
Path across the desert lone and drear,
If thou hast not compassed, to begin it,
Masteries of Fear.
418
O thou may'st not heed the last glad sentence
Sung by angels that around us lie,
For the soul that by sublime repentance
Chose to live, because it chose to die;
May'st not see, when plumage of the pigeon
Brightens with the sun, the endless spring
Speaking to us in that old religion,
Still renewed on resurrection's wing;
May'st not rise when flowers and faiths are drooping,
And when heaven no longer seems to hear,
Till thou first hast climbed by humbly stooping,
Sinais of Fear.
Sung by angels that around us lie,
For the soul that by sublime repentance
Chose to live, because it chose to die;
May'st not see, when plumage of the pigeon
Brightens with the sun, the endless spring
Speaking to us in that old religion,
Still renewed on resurrection's wing;
May'st not rise when flowers and faiths are drooping,
And when heaven no longer seems to hear,
Till thou first hast climbed by humbly stooping,
Sinais of Fear.
Awe is wise, and reverence looks deeper,
Through the vision of its veilèd eyes,
Than the scoffing sceptic or the sleeper
Rocked to death upon his bed of lies;
Holy wonderment will steer the spirit,
Through the rocks and whirlpools that are rife,
To eternity it doth inherit,
Over ocean ignorance names life;
Yea, it saves us from a hair's breadth swerving,
Lights the nights to noontide calm and clear,
And imparts to us at length by serving
Government of Fear.
Through the vision of its veilèd eyes,
Than the scoffing sceptic or the sleeper
Rocked to death upon his bed of lies;
Holy wonderment will steer the spirit,
Through the rocks and whirlpools that are rife,
To eternity it doth inherit,
Over ocean ignorance names life;
Yea, it saves us from a hair's breadth swerving,
Lights the nights to noontide calm and clear,
And imparts to us at length by serving
Government of Fear.
Fear alone can ope to us the portal,
The invisible that girds us round,
All the poorness of this purblind mortal,
With its walls of unknown sight and sound;
Shows us God, the Lowliest Being, seated
At our feet a glorious crownêd slave,
Only when false Science has retreated
Back into its native gloom and grave;
Makes us see, while slight and meretricious
Are the vistas of delusion dear,
Nought is like the view, in vast delicious
Loveliness of Fear.
The invisible that girds us round,
All the poorness of this purblind mortal,
With its walls of unknown sight and sound;
Shows us God, the Lowliest Being, seated
At our feet a glorious crownêd slave,
Only when false Science has retreated
Back into its native gloom and grave;
Makes us see, while slight and meretricious
Are the vistas of delusion dear,
Nought is like the view, in vast delicious
Loveliness of Fear.
Ah, thou know'st not God nor any learning,
Not thyself though more than mighty stars,
With thy lore, and that tempestuous yearning
Beating at its iron dungeon bars;
Till thou hast achieved the final issue,
Which is still the infant's earliest cry,
Worked into our nature's inmost tissue,
Stamped in flame upon the earth and sky;
Till by insight thou hast passed, not proving,
Into truth that tender is and near,—
God, whose name is Love, in all His loving,
Yet Himself is Fear.
Not thyself though more than mighty stars,
With thy lore, and that tempestuous yearning
Beating at its iron dungeon bars;
Till thou hast achieved the final issue,
Which is still the infant's earliest cry,
Worked into our nature's inmost tissue,
Stamped in flame upon the earth and sky;
Till by insight thou hast passed, not proving,
Into truth that tender is and near,—
God, whose name is Love, in all His loving,
Yet Himself is Fear.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |